


The Musician

by DisasterSoundtrack



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, But just a little, Fluff, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 09:36:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7839703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisasterSoundtrack/pseuds/DisasterSoundtrack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Musician lives in a building opposite of Jamin’s, one floor below, and Jamin can see almost half of his flat from his own living room windows.</p><p>That, and the man doesn’t own any curtains.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jamin calls him The Musician.

The Musician lives in a building opposite of Jamin’s, one floor below, and due to the insufferably tight way the buildings of Brooklyn are squeezed together, Jamin can see almost half of his living room and a part of his open kitchen from his own living room windows.

That, and the man doesn’t own any curtains.

The Musician is objectively a handsome man, although kind of goofy-looking, with long dreadlocks he pins up sometimes and with some weird tattoos Jamin can’t make out that well, small round glasses on top of his nose. But he’s tall and slender, often walking around with no shirt on in just a pair of blue shorts on warmer days, and he’s got such a nice smile that lights up his entire face.

Jamin feels like a creep, but he can’t help himself. Something draws him to the balcony every evening and he checks out what the guy is doing, if he’s home, of course. Most nights, he practices the violin, or another violin-y instrument. He’s also got a big string one, that Jamin googles is a cello, but he doesn’t touch that one that often.

The excuses for why he’s standing on his balcony so often get thinner and thinner for Jamin every day. He even tries to pick up smoking, but fails, and eventually settles on buying a chair and a small table where he sets his laptop and does his work whenever he feels like it, and whenever the weather is good enough.

*

Sometimes, on warm days when the windows get opened, Jamin can hear the music from The Musician’s apartment over the bustle of the street. It is one of these days.

Jamin doesn’t even go to the balcony, he just opens it and it feels like spring flying in and enveloping him in the tightest, calming hug. The Musician is standing in a wide open window, it’s nine in the morning and he’s playing, the bow moving at lightning speed, the melody fast and bright and absolute serenity on the man’s face, a perfect picture of purity that, as far as Jamin is aware, is a complete lie, because The Musician really gets around. Different men, some even weirder than him, keep stopping by his apartment and The Musician doesn’t always take them to the bedroom, and he still doesn’t have curtains in the living room.

Jamin never looks then, but he worries that half the building can see what’s going on and whether the guy isn’t bothered by it.

But today it’s just music. Music so warm and happy it makes Jamin feel sunlight heating him up from the inside, taking care of all the worries about being flooded by unfinished projects at work and his boyfriend being a jerk again, music so wonderful it makes Jamin step out to the balcony anyway, enjoying the way spring blooms in the middle of the city.

The Musician plays a final note, looking around at the non-existent audience with a beaming smile on his face, and Jamin wills him to look up, just look up, just a little bit up, but the man doesn’t, he just takes a step back and closes the window.

As the music goes away, Jamin’s good mood leaves, too.

*

The breakup with Jimmy happens suddenly, but not unexpectedly. Their relationship has been falling apart for months on end, fights getting louder, doors getting slammed more often, make-up sex not bringing the same joy it used to, nights out together often ending up with Jamin alone and drunk at a bar, having to call Becky to save him.

So it’s a good thing that the breakup happens, but loneliness is still the weirdest feeling of all. To add insult to injury, things at work for once slow down and there’s not even the usual mountain of graphic designs for Jamin to do to forget about everything else.

Mostly, he sits on his couch, eating ice-cream and watching classic Hollywood movies and shows for teenagers on MTV. He hates everything, but mostly himself, and he even forgets to check daily how The Musician is doing. Wallowing in his own pain takes up way too much of his time, attention, energy.

*

The Musician is crying.

It’s not like he gets moved by watching _The Notebook_ , not like he hits himself on the counter edge and tears start flowing out of pain. Jamin is sitting on the balcony, reading news sites and trying to work when it all begins, he sees motion in The Musician’s apartment, the man walking around his apartment at a fast pace, unable to settle down, until his shoulders start to shake, his entire body trembles and he breaks down, sitting on the couch, dragging his knees up to his chin and surrounding his legs with his arms, weeping.

It lasts for hours.

At some point Jamin gets up and away, deciding to be a decent human being and stop spying for once. He makes himself some food, eats it, calls his friend for half an hour of conversation, takes a shower, puts on pajamas and is on his way to the bedroom when something forces him to look through the window one last time, and the guy is still there on the couch, only now he’s lying down, wrapped in a yellow stripy blanket, continuously crying. Jamin feels a strange sensation, his guts making a somersault when he steps out to the balcony again.

The only thing he wants to do is console The Musician. He was never good at these things, always way too brash and way to the point, but maybe the guy would appreciate a tea, a slice of pizza and possibly a blowjob. These things always help. For a hot minute Jamin considers walking out to the guy’s building, counting windows to find out his apartment number and then knocking at his door, but - what would he say? “Hi, I’ve been stalking you for months and noticed you were sad”? Maybe “Hey, you play the violin really nicely, there’s no need to feel bad”? He laughs at himself, knowing this could never happen, and then he’s stirred out of his thoughts because The Musician jumps up from the couch as if shook by electricity, and suddenly there’s an entirely new presence in his little, messy apartment: The Boyfriend.

The Boyfriend started showing up probably sometime around Jamin’s breakup, so he didn’t pay him much attention, but he was definitely there, sometimes staying over, sometimes causing The Musician to disappear for nights on end, and sometimes they watched movies curled up on the couch together and sometimes they made out by the window over breakfast coffee, and he looked like a Brooklyn hipster as well, only shorter, bearded and blonde and with two full sleeves of tattoos.

He is there now, and he’s screaming.

Jamin can’t hear him, but his facial expressions speak loud enough, and he’s gesticulating wildly, angrily. The Musician doesn’t do much at first, listening, nodding calmly, until he replies, the other man appalled for some reason, and this is the moment the fight truly explodes.

Half an hour later Jamin realizes he is almost hanging over his balcony railing, his eyes glued to the scene in front of him, his heart beating loudly in support of The Musician whose relationship is just now falling apart, and Jamin knows this feeling with all of its dark corners.

In a last, desperate bout of anger, The Boyfriend grabs a mug from the coffee table and smashes it on the floor, an asshole move, turning on his feet, and that is the last time Jamin ever sees him.

The Musician drops to his knees, some of his dreadlocks breaking free from an updo after an exhausting fight, and starts picking up the pieces that used to be a blue coffee mug. The man’s face is red and swollen from the crying when he collects the remains, but the tears aren’t flowing anymore.

Jamin forgets everything. He forgets that it’s nearly 2 in the morning, that he is getting cold on the balcony in just a t-shirt, that he spent the last two hours or more basically watching a reality show in actual life. He forgets about himself and his own physical presence when he watches The Musician open the window and light a cigarette with shaking hands. He forgets, until his phone he put away on the balcony table beeps loudly as the battery is dying, and The Musician glances up, right into Jamin’s eyes, and his face speaks of nothing.

*

Not only was he made as a stalker and spy recently; that same week his sister gets conjunctivitis, forcing Jamin to take over all her projects at work, and his car breaks down, causing him to frantically search for the nearest bus stop, already late, and then wait there for either salvation or sweet, sweet death.

“Hello.” The voice speaking to him dares to be sweet and optimistic and pleasant on a day Jamin wants to throw himself from a cliff, and it is insulting. He is very ready not to respond, just trying to send the owner of the voice an icy glare, until he looks up and realizes he is being joined on the bus stop bench by none other than The Musician, a violin case strapped to his back.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, a thousand times fuck.

“So you’re the guy who likes to hang out at the balcony a lot, huh? You could’ve just said hi that day, you know what I mean?”

Jamin has imagined his first meeting with this man many, many times, but he never expected it to be at the bus stop, especially because he didn’t know where the bus stop was until today. And he never imagined he’d have to explain himself after being busted watching the man break up with his boyfriend. Everything went so, so damn sideways and Jamin wants to say something, anything, but his brain is completely blank. The Musician, though, keeps talking for both of them.

“I saw you up there a couple of times, you always had your nose buried in your laptop, don’t you think you work too much? Anyway sorry for that night, I don’t know how much you’ve seen or heard, but it wasn’t cute, so, yeah. That won’t happen again. Sorry, I’m rambling now. Do you speak? I’m Shane.”

Shane. He has a name, and maybe it isn’t a typical Brooklyn hipster name, but somehow it fits him, and Jamin would notice the way his eyes crinkle as he smiles, if only he wasn’t that paralyzed and angry and full of other feelings he can neither name nor place.

“Jamin.” They shake hands, the touch brief, but firm, Shane’s skin warm. “You should invest in some curtains.”

“Nah, I don’t want anything to block the light. Maybe I’m a bit of an exhibitionist, so what?” he giggles, stunning Jamin into silence again. Everything he says keeps throwing Jamin off his game, revealing a new layer of weirdness that honestly shouldn’t be that adorable. He doesn’t have much time to consider that phenomenon though, because the bus finally arrives, both him and Shane getting up from the bench. “You take the B24 too? I swear I’ve never seen you here before, and I take it almost every day!”

“I - I don’t, actually.” Jamin picks a window seat, not at all surprised when Shane slides in right next to him, eager to continue the conversation. “My car broke down, I’m already late for work, so here I am. I had to google where the bus stop was.” Jamin sort of wants to ask Shane about where he takes the bus to, but he’s sure he’s going to find out anyway.

“Oh! Oh! I see. Sorry about the car. Where do you work? I’m a music teacher in junior high, and I play in a string company. I’m a violinist, violist and cellist!”

Jamin wonders if Shane would notice if he didn’t answer his question at all. The man keeps changing conversation topics at a crazy speed, jumping from one subject to another, but then he raises his eyebrows slightly, expecting Jamin’s answer. “I’m a graphic designer.”

“Nice! Is that why you always sit with your nose glued to your computer? Oh fuck, I’d love to stay and chat some more, but that’s my stop. See you, Jamin. Am I even pronouncing that correctly?”

Jamin manages to only nod before The Musician - Shane - squeezes his elbow (where did that even come from?) and bolts out, the bus slowing down and then moving forward again. Jamin leans his head against the pane of glass, tension leaving his body slowly.

Despite his best efforts, he doesn’t do much work that day.

*

It takes an entire week to fix Jamin’s car.

Jamin spends the week taking a bus with Shane every morning. He comes around the bus stop and waits until the other man shows up, knowing he will be late for work anyway, knowing he’s going to take work home and then sit over projects until his eyes give out and it’s grey outside, but he can’t deny himself the stupid 15 minutes of hanging out with Shane. Shane, who fires question like a machine gun and doesn’t always wait for answers. Shane, who tells funny anecdotes about his job at the school or about theatre orchestra performances and laughs in a way that makes other people on the bus turn their heads. Shane, who disregards the very idea of personal space, nonchalantly putting his hand on Jamin’s knee or reaching to fix his hair, and when Jamin freezes he doesn’t even notice.

Jamin has no idea what drugs Shane is running on, but he wants some for himself.

On Monday, where his car is all good to go, Jamin enjoys the morning traffic and the ability to blast his favorite music while he sits alone, and he manages to get to work with 15 minutes to spare before he realizes how much he hates this morning. Sometimes you want life to give you something good, and when life does, the good thing actually kind of sucks.

Next morning, Shane is surprised to see him on the bus stop again.

“Hey, Jamin! I wasn’t expecting you here, is something wrong with your car again?”

 _No, my car is fine. Something’s wrong with my head._ “Yeah, I had to send it off to the shop again, they didn’t fix the issue.”

“Shit, I’m sorry to hear that. Do you want some banana chips?”

Shane’s babbling starts the day in a completely different way, and Jamin enjoys it much more than the loneliness of his car he used to value so much.

*

“I’m playing a show at Radio City this weekend, do you want to come?” Shane asks one time, offhandedly, a casual invitation to see him perform. The days are getting colder and Jamin can’t work so much on his balcony anymore, but today is fine, he’s wearing a sweater and Shane is smoking in his window below.

The distance is a little bit too far for a conversation, but Jamin can hear Shane well enough. Will he actually witness The Musician play music in an official setting?

“Sure! I’d love to. When exactly?”

Shane gives the exact place, time and date while Jamin jolts down a note in his phone.

“Oh, and by the way, as you might know I’ve been dumped recently, so I’m really looking forward to getting pissed drunk after the show. You’re welcome to join me.” Shane smiles, making Jamin’s heart flutter stupidly, waves and closes the window.

Before Jamin falls asleep, he wishes he was someplace else, in another bedroom, in another bed, doing unspeakable things to Shane’s pale skin, his lean arms and impossibly long legs, leaving a chain of bruises on his neck to accompany the one he already has from playing the violin.


	2. Chapter 2

Shane is first chair violin. Obviously.

His dreadlocks are tied into a nest somewhat elegantly and he’s wearing a suit, and Jamin is readily willing to admit the Brooklyn hipster does clean up nicely.

The music is so entrancing and beautiful that Jamin doesn’t even mind that he also had to put on a suit, which he hates, and then ride a bus not to blow his cover.

He sits in the audience, a stupid smile plastered to his features, and Shane’s face when he plays is an absolute delight. Jamin wants to draw him, on actual paper, with actual pencils, and then hang the drawing up on his fridge to cheer himself up on mornings when he can’t take the bus anymore. Time becomes meaningless when he listens to Shane play, and he’s really disappointed when the audience starts clapping and soon everybody shuffles their way out of the auditorium.

Jamin waits for Shane by the exit door like they’ve settled, but the waiting time elongates so much Jamin starts doubting Shane will ever show up. He’s nearly ready to leave when he hears Shane’s voice.

“Oh thank God you’re still here. Sorry it took so long, nobody seemed to understand I already have drinking company for tonight.”

Jamin hesitates. “You can go with them if you want to, it’s fine.”

“No, are you kidding me? I invited _you_ , neighbor, we’re going, it’s out of the question.”

Shane says he’s feeling fancy since they’re both wearing suits and picks an equally fancy bar. There’s smooth jazz in the background, ladies in cocktail dresses and a glass counter where the bartender slides shots their way.

“Thanks for inviting me, Shane. I really enjoyed it.” In colorful lights of the bar Shane’s face looks like a painting and Jamin wonders if a thank you kiss would be too much. Probably yes. He raises a glass Shane’s way instead. “Here’s to you.”

“Here’s to me!” Shane giggles, grins and they both drink, and the liquor burning in Jamin’s throat tastes of being alive.

They down shots until Jamin loses count.

Shane’s drunkenness is funny, because he starts talking even more and even faster, as if that’s even possible, and his hands are everywhere: on Jamin’s knees, thighs, arms, touching his face for no reason when Shane has something particularly exciting to say. Jamin comes to like the way Shane keeps reaching out to fix his hair.

“Sorry, I’m neurotic like that, just tell me if I’m annoying you and I’ll stop.”

“It’s okay”, Jamin replies, drunk a little bit as well, the vision of Shane in front of him soft and blurred around the edges, and he can feel the warmth of Shane’s breath on his cheek. Why is Shane so close?

“I think I’ve had enough. Do you think we can walk home?” Shane’s asks, his long, tender fingers of a musician running up and down Jamin’s arm, like he’s trying to memorize the texture of his muscles.

There’s something heavy in the air between them, and Jamin is most likely not imagining it, but is he supposed to act on it?

Shane doesn’t even say one word about his failed relationship throughout the evening. It’s like The Boyfriend never existed, only Jamin remembers him making scrambled eggs in Shane’s kitchen like it was yesterday.

They take a walk and it takes a long while, but time flows differently with Shane. It’s not measured in minutes or hours, but rather the number of times he laughs and the number of times he makes Jamin laugh. Shane’s tie is loose around his neck, revealing the naked expanse of his throat, and Jamin has never met anyone with their body language more inviting.

Their shoulders brush when they walk the streets of Williamsburg. Shane shuts up for a moment, like he’s trying to gather his thoughts.

“I feel like you know everything there is to know about me, Jamin, and I know almost nothing about you.”

“Because I don’t run my mouth all the time like a crazy person.”

“I know, but still, seems unfair. I think I should get three questions, anything goes, you know what I mean?”

This is a dangerous game, but Jamin is feeling risky. They’ve reached Jamin’s building and Shane has his elbow in a death grip again. “Shoot.”

“Alright, so first one. Easy. What is your relationship with your parents like?”

“Wow, you don’t like to beat around the bush, huh?” Jamin is taken aback by Shane’s question, but only a little.

“No m’am. So?”

“My mom died when I was a kid. All is fine with my dad, nothing to write home about. Me and my sister are close, though. See, I gave you some extra info for free. What’s the next question?”

Jamin doesn’t want Shane’s pity. He wants many other things from him, but not this, so he tries to rush through it. Luckily, Shane doesn’t miss a beat.

“What’s your favorite place in the world?”

It’s a simple question, nothing tricky, not a curveball at all, so Jamin surprises himself when the answer spills out of his mouth before he can prevent disaster. “My balcony.”

Shane’s eyes light up with a brand new fire, something so raw and primal Jamin takes a step towards Shane despite himself, and Shane takes one too. Their chests are pressed together when Shane runs his fingers through Jamin’s hair and says, “Last question then. Are you drunk enough to invite me over?”

Jamin wants to say he doesn’t have to be drunk for that, not at all, but that wouldn’t matter because he is kind of drunk now. He finds Shane’s hand and pulls him towards the door, both of them tripping and laughing on the stairway, and Jamin has no idea what to expect, but he finally has The Musician all to himself, every fiber of his body trembling in anticipation, his cock hard in his underwear making it a challenge to walk up the stairs.

The first thing Shane does when they enter the apartment is take his violin case off his back and set it aside with care while Jamin locks the door and turns on the light.

The second thing Shane does is push Jamin against the door, mercilessly, and drop to his knees without saying anything.

“Whoa, okay, you’re all play, no talk suddenly?”

“Shut up, I’m always all play”, Shane responds through laughter while they both fumble to get Jamin’s pants opened.

Jamin sucks in a sharp breath when his naked skin comes in contact with the air, and another when he feels both Shane’s breath and fingers wrapping around his hard cock. He leans harder on the door, planting his feet firmly on the ground, already sweating beneath his suit jacket.

“Holy fuck, you’re so hot”, mutters Shane, and Jamin still has no idea why he’s doing that, thinking how long it will take for Shane to come back to his senses. He prays it takes long enough.

Jamin commits every second to memory.

The tries to remember how Shane uses his talented fingers to guide Jamin’s cock to his mouth. How it hits the back of his throat and the unholy moan Shane makes then. How his tongue wraps around him and Jamin can do nothing but grab onto Shane’s dreadlocks, not caring if he ruins his carefully arranged hairdo of the night, he needs to hold onto something desperately and right about now.

Shane is as dirty as they get.

His tongue is a creation of the devil, the sounds he makes are everything Jamin never knew he needed and he is certain he prefers them to the concert he listened to tonight. Jamin’s thoughts are incoherent when Shane is helping himself with his hand, and maybe he grabs onto his hair a little bit too tight because Shane looks up, his innocence a distant memory, his mouth soft, wet and stretched around Jamin’s cock, and it’s enough.

Jamin’s hips buckle forward, slowly at first, and then he can’t stop himself as Shane’s mouth accommodates him, the other man not pulling away, no, he keeps on, sucking and not breaking eye contact with Jamin. Who the fuck does that? Shane’s playful obnoxiousness breaks the dam once and for all and Jamin is coming, spilling his release down Shane’s throat, and the other man _keeps on looking._ Jamin isn’t sure if he’ll ever breathe normally again.

When he’s done, he decides to drag Shane up by the lapels of his suit jacket and Shane scrambles to his feet, licking his mouth; how even dare he?

“I hope you enjo-”

Jamin pulls him in, now or never, and smashes their mouths together before Shane can finish the sentence. The kiss is messy and Jamin goes slow while Shane goes fast, so it takes them a while to synchronize, but once they do, their breaths mix together, tongues twist and Shane’s lips are salty, burning.

Jamin’s lips move to Shane’s jaw and the other man giggles again, before Jamin bites down, intending to leave a mark, making Shane moan the way that makes heads spin and hearts stop.

“I’ll be going, then”, mutters Shane pulling away moments later, a smirk across his features as he presses his fingers to the fresh mark below his jaw, picks up his violin case, runs a hand through Jamin’s hair one last time and leaves, just like that.

Jamin finds himself asking, “That’s it?”, directing the question at the locked door.

*

Jamin draws the curtains shut for the entire weekend, and stews in his thoughts. How badly did he fuck up?

Waking up alone after the little adventure with Shane hurt, and it hurt a whole lot: reality always does. He just tossed a blossoming friendship with the guy into a trashcan, putting them both in a very awkward position, yet he still feels himself growing hard remembering the way Shane’s mouth wrapped around him, and the sounds he made. Jamin wanted to return the favor, but he wasn’t allowed.

_Shane has been looking for fun. He is fresh from a breakup and wants to have fun. I can be normal around him. I can._

He can’t. He wills himself not to open the curtains and run to the balcony to see how Shane’s doing, what he’s doing. Jamin is beating himself up for the fact that they didn’t exchange phone numbers, and a quick Facebook search brings up no results.

He pushes the thoughts away, takes a cold shower, cleans the entire apartment, does the laundry, hangs out with his sister, and when Monday comes, he goes to work by car.

*

It’s time to throw stuff out.

First, Jamin goes through a mountain of old notes, drawing and project ideas that are gathering dust on his desk. He doesn’t form emotional connections with material stuff, so it’s not difficult to toss some of it out, it’s actually the other way around: sometimes, it helps to sort out the mess in his head. The papers form a neat pile at the foot of his bed and then he moves on to the closet.

Clothes he doesn’t need keep landing on top of his bed before Jamin gets to think twice. He needs to do something, anything, and this is good enough, he will get over it, he always does. It just needs to take a while longer.

He busies himself sorting through shirts and sweaters until a doorbell rings. Jamin’s not expecting anyone.

Shane is in the doorway, holding two containers of takeout in front of himself like a shield and Jamin could swear he is in some kind of alternative reality.

“Hey. Are you avoiding me? I just wanted to apologize, if there’s anything I should be sorry for, because I don’t know. I was thinking maybe something happened to you, you know, since I haven’t seen you since - that - and if everything’s fine, then I brought food. Do you like Thai? It’s totally fine if you don’t, I’m hungry as fuck.”

“Shane.”

“Yes?” Shane looks at Jamin in wait, like he’s fully expecting to be yelled at or kicked out, and Jamin understands absolutely nothing, but he definitely won’t stand for this.

“Come in.”

“Oh thank God. You’re not mad at me, then?” Shane steps in and looks around Jamin’s apartment curiously, even though the curtains are drawn shut and there’s not much light coming in, except through the bedroom window that faces another direction. Jamin takes the food containers from Shane; the food smells very nicely and Jamin suddenly remembers he didn’t have dinner today, too busy with the cleaning.

“Why would I be mad at you? For what reason?” _Because you caught me by the heartstrings and made me believe something could happen? Because you blew me and then run for your life? Because you’re the reason I can’t open my curtains anymore?_

“I don’t - I don’t know. I guess I overthink stuff a lot, so I just assumed the worst, you know? I know I’m crazy”, giggles Shane, shimmying his shoulders, and Jamin can’t help but roll his eyes. Okay. So it isn’t that bad, nothing is fucked up, not yet, and Shane is peeking into Jamin’s bedroom, amused by the mess he finds there. “Whoa, what happened here? Did I miss a tornado?”

“I was cleaning up.” Jamin passes Shane in the bedroom doorway and sits down on the bed, pushing the clothes away, handing the other man one of the food containers. “Doesn’t matter. Can we eat now? I’m actually starving.”

They fall back into their routine of comfortable back-and-forth talk and light topics and it’s like nothing ever changed between them, like nothing happened, like Jamin doesn’t remember the taste of his own cum in Shane’s mouth when they kissed, pressed against the door, it’s like he doesn’t remember what these fingers, which are now holding chopsticks, are capable of. Frankly, it’s pissing Jamin off a little bit. When they’re finished with the food and Shane chugs down a water bottle, Jamin decides to just go with his gut on this one.

Shane puts down the water bottle and starts talking again.

Jamin puts his hand on the side of Shane’s face, looking him in the eyes, finding a speck of worry there.

Shane shuts up.

Jamin lunges forward and puts his lips on Shane’s, and when Shane makes the smallest sound, Jamin swallows it.

There’s no time to waste. The kiss deepens in a matter of seconds, Shane’s body quickly responding, and Jamin can’t help to inwardly cheer when the other man climbs to his lap, all the while not breaking their contact for a second, and wraps his long legs around Jamin.

They’re sober, and this is happening. He’s making out with The Musician again. He just needs to ask one question, so he pulls away for a second, disappointment flashing on Shane’s face as he’s got his fingers twisted into Jamin’s hair, the heat of his body so close it’s hard to believe Jamin spent the last week deliberately preventing this scenario from coming to life.

“Why did you run that night?”

Shane’s eyes run for cover as he tries to look everywhere but at Jamin’s face. “I didn’t want you to have any regrets.”

“You’re so, so stupid, you know that? I regret that you didn’t stay”, Jamin replies, making Shane giggle, the delightful sound warming him up from toes to the tip of his head.

“Shit. Sorry. I promise I’m not going to run anymore.”

Jamin pushes Shane so the other man falls backwards on the bed and Jamin gets to hover over him, stealing more and more of these delicious giggles from Shane’s warm, willing lips.

They have sex among the disarray of clothes on Jamin’s bed, and Jamin does one thing he doesn’t remember doing in a long, long time: he allows himself to lose all control. He lets Shane pull him apart, and then put him back together.

When Shane pushes, Jamin pushes back.

When Shane talks too much, and damn, does the man talk _a lot,_ Jamin distracts him, shuts him up with kisses. He’s getting a hang of the anxiety that is driving Shane, but he’s also getting a hang of his smooth, warm skin and the weird tattoos in all their glory, the sharp cut of his jawline, the criminal length of his legs and all the other enjoyable parts of Shane he becomes well acquainted with.

It feels like falling, but the landing is surprisingly soft.

Jamin allows himself something else as well: he lets himself be gentle. He doesn’t flinch when Shane wraps his arms around him afterwards, doesn’t back away from lazy post-orgasm kisses and when Shane looks him in the eyes, deep like he’s attempting to see into his soul, fixing Jamin’s hair at the same time, Jamin concludes, _it feels good._

Shane’s bravado from minutes ago is all gone, leaving him all mellow and giddy and cuddly. How can someone seem so innocent and slutty all at once? Jamin still has no idea, but the answer is now in bed with him, drawing imaginary circles on Jamin’s chest.

“How about I call you ‘Jay’? Is that alright? It’s shorter. Seems more practical, you know what I mean?”

“It’s not my name though. Nobody calls me that.”

“I do now. And you’re going to like it,” Shane scoots even closer and whispers, hot breath washing over Jamin’s ear, “especially when you make me scream it out.”

Jamin break out in uncontrollable laughter. “Fuck, oh my God, could you be any more of a dork?”

“I don’t know, could your resting bitchface get any worse?”

Jamin stops Shane’s teasing with a kiss, their legs tangling, their moans filling the bedroom air again.

*

Shane talks for half the night, and when he tires out and stops to breathe, Jamin kisses him and they end up fucking again, Shane arching his back and grunting and screaming, sucking each moment dry with a kind of joy so vocal Jamin can’t help but be impressed, stunned, enamored. Shane is like a visitor from another world, where everybody smiles a little brighter, works a little harder, lives a little bigger.

Now, Jamin will really need to throw out all the clothes they are lying on.

“I want to see your balcony”, Shane says at one point, making Jamin freeze.

“It’s - it’s not a good idea.”

“Oh come on.” Shane is already out of bed, pulling on his underwear and trotting out, to the living room. Jamin sighs and follows him, not looking forward to Shane finding out how much of his apartment is perfectly visible from Jamin’s balcony. He’s not looking forward to the big reveal of his stalking range. Shane moves the curtains, opens the balcony door and steps out, the air chilly, New York already bathing in dawn.

So that was fun while it lasted, now Shane is going to hate him.

“Oh. Oh! You can actually - oh. I get it now. I really should’ve bought some curtains. You can - you can see my couch, too? Wow. Well.”

Jamin is desperately looking for a way out, for something to say that would make this okay somehow. He joins Shane by the railing, the metal cold against his bare stomach.

“I watched you play the violin in the open window one day”, he says, not sure where he’s going with this. “You were so… you looked so peaceful. And then that asshole boyfriend of yours… I’m sorry for looking, but I just couldn’t stop. I wanted to run to your apartment and punch him in the face.”

To Jamin’s surprise, Shane reaches for his hand and then clings to him, head in the crook between Jamin’s shoulder and neck, sharing warmth in the coldness around them. Jamin, still unsure, runs his hands up Shane’s back, slowly, and Shane hugs him even tighter.

“It’s okay. I don’t think about him anymore. Actually, I haven’t been thinking about him since I met you at the bus stop, so. Sorry if I’m too straightforward.”

Jamin soaks in Shane’s warmth and the subtle smell of his skin. He doesn’t let himself fall too often, he has no idea how to be vulnerable, but he can learn. He would learn for Shane. He looks at the grey shadows in Shane’s apartment in the opposite building, one floor below, and thinks how fate is a moody bitch who finally brought him something good. Someone good.

“Shane? How about -” Shane looks at him, eyes crinkling, expression open and inviting, and Jamin actually loses his train of thought for a second. “How about you continue not to think about your ex in my bedroom?”

Shane cracks up, one of his hands slipping to Jamin’s butt and squeezing. “Lead the way.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know how you liked it! Forever yours at samrull.tumblr.com


End file.
